


The Seven Boys Sansa Kissed in High School + One Man She Only Almost Kissed

by The_Last_Mockingbird9



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Kiss, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Last_Mockingbird9/pseuds/The_Last_Mockingbird9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn’t how her first kiss was supposed to be at all. Sansa had been meticulously planning the moment since she first learned what kisses were. But, of course, Arya had to go and ruin everything like usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seven Boys Sansa Kissed in High School + One Man She Only Almost Kissed

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly little fic I wrote a while ago that I thought I'd finally share.

_1\. Hot Pie_

This wasn’t how her first kiss was supposed to be at all. Sansa had been meticulously planning the moment since she first learned what kisses were. A handsome boy with hair the color of spun gold and eyes like a summer sky was supposed to tell her she was the most beautiful girl in the world before sweeping her off her feet, pressing his lips against hers, and asking her to be his forever. Now that she was a freshman in high school, she had decided she would like the neighbor’s boy Joffrey Baratheon to be her first kiss and maybe her only kiss. But, of course, Arya had to go and ruin everything like usual.

“You picked _dare_ , Sansa!” Arya shouted, doing little to conceal her delight in the situation. “And I _dared_ you to kiss Hot Pie!”

_No, no, no!_ There was simply no way Arya’s rotund friend with his bulbous nose and sticky hands was going be her first kiss. And there was no way she was going to have her first kiss in front of her sister and all of her annoying little friends either. They were only in seventh grade while she was in _high school._ They just didn’t understand how important first kisses were yet. What would Jeyne Poole say if Sansa told her she had kissed _Hot Pie_ of all people?

But she _had_ picked dare, in a moment of what she now decided must have been temporary insanity. Arya would tease her ruthlessly for weeks if she backed down now. Robb and Jon would only tell her she should have known better than to let Arya dare her. Bran would ask why she wouldn’t want to kiss the boy who always brought them pie. Rickon would call her stupid and run off with Shaggy. _Stupid, scared, silly Sansa…_

“Chickening out again, huh?” Arya asked, with a triumphant look on her face. “I don’t know why I still play this game with you. This is just like the time I dared you to run around the block naked and you hid in your room.”

Sansa flushed a deeper shade of red at the memory of that dare. _What if Joffrey had seen? Or his beautiful uncle Jaime Lannister?_ At least this dare didn’t involve being naked. She looked briefly over at Arya’s friend again— _Hot Pie! What kind of name was Hot Pie?_ —who was now fidgeting with the zipper of his stupid Power Rangers sweatshirt.

“You—you don’t have to—to kiss me, Sansa,” Hot Pie stuttered out, as his face turned an even more violent shade of red than hers. “Arya is just being mean.”

“I am _not_ ,” Arya countered. “You said you thought she was pretty, and now you get to kiss her, so shut up, stupid!"

“You really think I’m pretty?” Sansa blurted out. Arya snorted, Lommy giggled, and Hot Pie seemed to choke on his own tongue. The plump baker’s boy nodded while looking at anything and anyone else in the room but her.

_Oh, well, I guess one kiss won’t kill me, and he thinks I’m pretty._ Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned across the circle they were sitting in and kissed him, clutching to his shoulders for leverage. His lips felt surprisingly soft and warm against her own. _So this is kissing then?_ She wondered if she ought to move her lips or something, but Hot Pie was completely frozen beneath her and seemed to have stopped breathing.

“There!” Sansa exclaimed, as she pulled away and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Arya, Hot Pie, Mycah, and Lommy responded by staring at her with slack jaws and wide eyes. Clearly, no one had been expecting her to actually go through with it. _Well, at least they won’t call me stupid, scared Sansa now._

“I—I— _you_ kissed _Hot Pie_!” Arya half shrieked.

When Arya started laughing, Sansa felt her burst of courage begin to fade and the reality of what she had just done sank in. Her cheeks began to burn again, so she shot up from the living room floor before Arya could see her embarrassment. “I’ll get you next time, Arya!” she declared over her shoulder, as she sprinted up the stairs toward her bedroom.

Sansa collapsed on her bed and buried her face in her pillow. How on earth was she going to explain this to Jeyne? What would she say when Jeyne wrinkled her nose in distaste but grudgingly asked her how it was anyways?

_Well, I guess it wasn’t so bad_ , Sansa thought. Hot Pie was nothing like the golden princes she had crafted in her dreams, but the baker’s boy’s lips were soft and he had smelled faintly of lemoncakes. And everyone knew that Sansa _loved_ lemoncakes.

 

 

_2\. Joffrey Baratheon_

The boy next door with the eyes like emeralds may not have been her first kiss, but he _was_ her second. They were the perfect couple. He was beautiful, and popular, and the new rising star of the baseball team. She was beautiful, and popular, and the new rising star of the choir. Everything was finally perfect, just like Sansa had always wanted it to be.

Well, everything except Joffrey’s kisses was perfect anyways. No matter how hard she tried to enjoy the feeling of his lips against hers, there was never a spark. She didn’t like the way he always shoved his tongue down her throat, the way he slobbered all over her neck and left deep purple marks she had to cover up with scarves and powder and strategically popped collars, and she especially didn’t like the way he always bit her bottom lip, leaving unsightly bruises and sometimes even drawing blood. Randa insisted that biting was sexy, but Sansa suspected that was only true when it was done out of passion. She had an uneasy feeling that Joffrey did it simply because he got a kick out of hurting her.

She tried everything she could think of to fix the problem. But no matter how many times she asked him to slow down or mimic the way she kissed him, their kisses still remained as messy and unpleasant as ever. But it wasn’t until he bit down so hard on her bottom lip that she could feel warm blood start to fill her mouth at the Westeros High championship football game that Sansa decided she had finally had enough.

“I told you not to do that a hundred times, and you never listen to me! If you can’t listen then I’m afraid I can’t do this anymore, Joffrey,” she declared, clutching her swollen lip. It was a terribly unladylike way to break up with someone, with everyone around them staring and listening to every word, but she couldn’t seem to make herself care.

“What exactly are you trying to say, Sansa? Did you forget who I am? Do you realize what I could do to you?” He grabbed at one of her thin wrists and pulled her back down on to the bleacher seat beside him.

“I don’t care if you’re the fucking King of England, you’ll not be grabbing at her like that,” a deep voice rasped. The conversations around them all died down instantly. The Hound, Joffrey’s senior friend, had a notoriously bad temper, but no one had ever seen him turn on his master before. Joffrey opened his mouth a few times, as if trying to respond, but no words left his fat, wormy lips. “I suggest you walk away now and leave the girl alone, all right?”

The request was made calmly enough, but Sansa knew by the way the Hound’s fists were clenched that Joffrey didn’t have much choice in the matter. When her ex-boyfriend marched off cursing under his breath, the Hound leaned forward and wiped the blood dripping down her chin away with a tenderness she had not thought the gruff, scarred boy capable of. It was that surprising tenderness that led to kiss number three.

 

_3\. Sandor Clegane_

In theory, taking Sandor Clegane—the Hound, Joffrey’s enforcer, the scariest student at Westeros High—to dinner was just supposed to be a way to thank him for frightening Joffrey off. But the longer Sansa sat across from him, the more she found herself wondering if this was a date. Joffrey had never taken her out on a _real_ date. Sure, they went to parties and dances together and sometimes watched movies and made out at his house, but he had never bought her a proper dinner or held her hand at a movie.

The Hound had brushed his black hair to the left in what appeared to be an unsuccessful attempt at covering his scars. When Sansa first met the Hound, the twisted, blackened mess that was the left side of his face had haunted her nightmares. But now the scars didn’t seem quite so bad. Sure, the way the burnt corner of his mouth twitched sometimes was a bit unsettling, but it had always been his eyes that scared her the most. The rage in them was palpable and made Sansa more nervous than she cared to admit. But tonight, when they looked at her from across the table, they didn’t seem angry at all.

“I—I just want to thank you, for what you did, making Joffrey leave like that,” Sansa mumbled, looking anxiously down at her mashed potatoes. She wanted to make eye contact, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to mock her for being so polite.

“Still can’t bear to look, can you?” His harsh voice almost sounded sad.

Her eyes shot up and she looked at him, really _looked_ at him. “No!” she answered, a little too loudly. “I—I just, I’m nervous, is all.”

He snorted. “Still scared of me, then?”

“Scared?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I be scared of you when you protected me? I’ve just never been on a real date before—”

“You think this is a date?”

Her stomach sunk and she wanted to run from the table. “Oh, well, I thought, I mean, I thought you might want it to be, but—”

Before she could finish her thought, his hulking body was across the table and his lips were pressing against hers. The burnt side of his lips felt strange, but the other side was soft enough. She was surprised by how cautious the kiss was, so different from the way Joffrey used to attack her mouth.

If someone had told her younger self that she would break up with the golden prince for his ugly dog, Sansa would have been horrified and given that person the silent treatment for at least a week. But here she was, kissing _the Hound_ for the world to see, and enjoying it. _It’s just like Beauty and the Beast_ … Except Sandor would not transform into a handsome prince at the end, but Sansa didn’t think she very much minded. Joffrey had been beautiful, after all, and he was certainly no Prince Charming.

 

 

_4\. Samwell Tarly_

Sandor moved away from King’s Landing six months later. Six months of being pretty, chirping Sansa Stark’s boyfriend had not made the Hound any sweeter, but she found herself weeping when he drove away all the same.

“You’ll find someone brave and gentle and good,” her father had promised when she came home that night, exhausted and miserable. Though he at least tried to hide his glee that Sandor was out of her life, the insinuation made her angry all the same.

_But Sandor is all of those things_ , she had wanted to say. Or at least he had the potential to be all of those things. She had wanted to be the person who would tame the fury inside him, but Sandor had insisted this was for the best and that he had to carve out a future for himself far away from his brother and the horrible memories King’s Landing held for him. Sansa understood and didn’t begrudge his leaving.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t mourn the end of their relationship. She still kept up her grades, laughed with her friends, and practiced her singing every night, but every time a boy asked her out, she would politely turn him down.

“So are you going to become a nun now just because the Hound dumped you?” Arya asked one night, as the girls readied themselves for Robb and Jon’s joint birthday party. Their parents had left for California the night before to bail Uncle Brandon out of jail again, so the kids had the house to themselves. Robb’s older friend Theon had ordered a keg, and Sansa was ready to finally have some fun.

“No,” Sansa snapped, as she pulled the curlers carefully from her hair. “I—I just haven’t been ready yet, that’s all.”

“You haven’t kissed anyone in nearly _four months_!” Arya exclaimed, like the very concept was unthinkable. “I never thought I’d be kissing more boys than you, San.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and took a sip of the red wine she had stolen from her mother’s secret supply. The wine tasted good but was already starting to make her head feel a little fuzzy and her cheeks pink. When she stood to walk downstairs with Arya, she swayed a bit on her feet. Perhaps tonight would be the night she’d finally break her kissing drought after all.

Later, as the party began to wind down, Sansa found herself stumbling out of Theon’s arms to hide from him in another room. Robb’s best friend was an attractive older boy with long raven hair and dark, seductive eyes, but there was something about him that made Sansa suspect he’d kiss her a lot like Joffrey used to. Jon’s friend Pyp, who sang in the choir with her, had tried to kiss her as well. And one of Joffrey’s friends, Arys Oakheart, though she suspected he was only trying to make his ex-girlfriend Arianne jealous. Even Hot Pie had somehow found his way next to her at one point and tried to put his arm around her shoulders, but she was not about to kiss him again while he was still wearing that same awful Power Rangers sweatshirt. None of them really cared about her anyways.

“Are—are you okay, Sansa?”

Sansa gasped, surprised to find she wasn’t alone in the kitchen. The keg and the liquor and the people were all in the basement; who else had run away from the party?

She turned to find Jon’s quiet friend Sam standing behind her, awkwardly looking down at his glass of water. While Sansa found most of her brothers’ friends tiresome, she had always liked Sam. He was the only one who ever complimented her on her garden or the way she meticulously crafted her lemoncakes with dainty little sugar flowers in the center. Samwell Tarly had an eye for beauty and loved to talk about art and music and literature nearly as much as she did. But despite how much they had in common, their conversations never lasted long before he turned into a mess of stutters and blushes and made some excuse to go track down Jon.

“Oh, I’m fine, Sam,” she said, with the brightest smile she could manage. “Just wanted to take a break from the party and get some water.”

He held out his glass to her, and she took it gratefully. The cold water was more refreshing than she could have imagined, and her head started to feel a little less fuzzy. “What brings you up here?”

“Oh, well, I—I don’t really drink, and Jon was making out with Ygritte, and Pyp and Grenn both had girls, and I don’t really know anyone else but them, and I—well, so I came here,” he said in one breath. “Not that you needed to know all that.”

“Why don’t you find a girl too?”

Sam rolled his eyes, though not unkindly. “I don’t have the best luck with girls,” Sam said. “I’m a complete coward, you see. Gilly was the only girl who ever liked me, but she had to move with her parents to the Arbor, and now I’m alone again.”

“I know how that feels,” Sansa sighed.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, Jon—Jon, well, he told me about the Hound, I mean Sandor, leaving and all that. Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But now I mostly think it’s time I moved on.”

“If only were that easy, eh?”

Sansa wasn’t sure what inspired her do what she did next. Maybe it was the sadness in poor Sam’s eyes. Maybe it was her own loneliness. Maybe it was the damn wine. Whatever the cause, _something_ compelled Sansa to lean forward and kiss Sam.

At first, his entire body tensed and his lips pressed together. But when Sansa didn’t pull away, he finally started kissing her back. _Gilly taught him well_ , she thought, as he sucked gently on her bottom lip and ran his fingers through her hair.

After what could have been minutes or hours, a glass shattered in the distance and they broke apart, breathless and flushed pink. “Thanks, Sam,” she said, cupping one of his cheeks in her hand. “That was exactly what I needed.”

Sam turned a rather shocking shade of red but smiled at her. “Let’s—let’s just not mention this to your brother…”

 

 

_5\. Willas Tyrell_

The kiss she shared with Sam Tarly reminded Sansa just how very much she liked kissing. So when Margaery Tyrell’s beautiful older brother came home from Oldtown University for the summer and announced he was available to tutor in History and English, Sansa was the first to sign up. In truth, she didn’t need any help in History and English, which were easily her best subjects, but Willas didn’t need to know that. She simply couldn’t resist the chance to be alone with the college boy with the lovely chocolate brown curls and golden eyes.

It was nearly a month of meeting in the library before Willas finally voiced what Sansa knew he had been thinking since their first day together. “You don’t actually need a tutor, do you, Sansa?”

Sansa blushed and tried to hide her face behind her copy of _Jane Eyre_. “Well, perhaps in Calculus, but…”

“Marg tells me you’re a basically a shoe-in for Oldtown, too.”

_Damn Margaery._ “Well, maybe, my grade point average is a bit higher than the average they have posted on their website, but nothing is guaranteed and—”

“Why did you ask me to tutor you, Sansa?”

Sansa took a deep breath and looked over at him from the top of the book. The sight of him with his dark, lazy curls and uncertain smile made her heart pound against her chest. He was much too old for her, and she knew her parents would never approve, but if she didn’t kiss him now, she knew she’d always regret it. “I wanted to kiss you,” she finally answered.

His shy smile grew into a grin. “Well, is it okay if I kiss you instead?”

Kiss her he did. He moved his tongue in a way that spoke of experience and made Sansa moan a little despite herself. The way his long, graceful fingers ran over her body and through her hair also did little to quiet her, and soon an annoyed librarian with pursed lips demanded they vacate the library immediately.

Before the summer ended, they had kissed in every corner of that library, and in her room, and in his room, and under the old willow tree in the park, and even her parents’ room once when Sansa had been feeling particularly daring. His soft lips always made her bones feel like water, and his long fingers always made her sing. So when the fall arrived, and he had to leave King’s Landing for Oldtown, Sansa was not ashamed to shed a tear or two for the beautiful college boyfriend her parents never even knew existed.

 

 

_6\. Theon Greyjoy_

When Willas left King’s Landing, her older brother Robb left as well. He was a big shot college student now, with a gorgeous girlfriend, a starting spot on the hockey team, and more friends than he knew what to do with. But that didn’t mean he could just go ahead and forget about his family.

Though she smiled prettily enough when the announcer placed the trophy in her hands, on the inside Sansa seethed. Robb had _promised_ he would come to the finals to watch her choir solo. The rest of her siblings had shown up with all of their close friends and significant others in tow. Even Jon, who went to school further away than Robb, was there to cheer her on. Everyone was there except the big brother she loved the fiercest.

So when he called her that night, she promptly pressed the ignore button. And then repeated this process about thirty more times until Robb finally gave up. She didn’t care what excuse he had thought up to justify his absence. If college parties and hockey and Jeyne Westerling were more important to him than she was, well, then she had better things to do than listen to his apologies.

But Sansa had never liked fighting with her siblings, especially with Robb, and it kept her tossing and turning all night. A little past two in the morning, Sansa gave up on sleeping and wandered downstairs for another slice of the cake her father had bought to celebrate her victory. To her surprise, Theon had beaten her to it and was sitting at the kitchen table with half her cake already on his plate.

The sight of him only served to make her angrier with Robb. Theon wasn’t even related to her, and he had driven all the way from where he now lived with his sister on the coast to watch her sing and spend the night at the Stark house.

“Come for cake?” Theon chuckled, pushing the rest toward her. “I was hoping to see your brother tonight too, you know. But it seems he’s far too busy for the likes of us anymore.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow, surprised that Theon sounded just as bitter as she felt. “I suppose he is,” she sighed, before shoving unladylike portion of cake into her mouth. They sat in silence for a while, with only the sound of their forks clanking against the glass plates breaking the early morning quiet.

“You know, I used to think I’d marry you someday.” The confession caught her off guard, and she wondered if he had been drinking. “You’re a beautiful girl, Sansa. And a Stark. God, I’ve always wanted to be a part of your damn family. I’ve always wanted to actually be able to call Robb brother.”

“You _are_ a part of the family, Theon,” Sansa said softly.

“Do you see me as a brother then?” The way he leered at her when he asked the question made Sansa suspect he wanted her to say no.

But it made her think all the same. Theon had been hanging around their house for as long as she could remember. When she was a little girl, he would sometimes drive her to her singing lessons after school or babysit her and the others if Robb and Jon were busy. She supposed she ought to see him like a brother but for some reason she never did.

“No, not exactly…”

It was mostly her desire to get back at Robb that convinced Sansa to finally allow Theon to kiss her that night, after so many years of pushing him away. His mouth tasted like sweet wine and vanilla cake. When he trapped her against the table and pressed his groin into hers, she even found that she didn’t mind the feeling. There was little romance or gentleness in it, but this was a revenge kiss, and romance and gentleness had no place here anyways.

She let Robb apologize to her the next day when he showed up with a bouquet of yellow roses, her favorite, in hand. Theon caught her eye while Robb tried to explain why Jeyne had needed him that night, and they silently agreed to keep what had happened in the kitchen between them.

 

 

_7\. Harry Hardyng_

Harry was the embodiment of the prince charming Sansa had dreamed of when she was a girl. His curls were a sandier blond and looser than Joffrey’s tight, golden ringlets, and his eyes were the blue of a summer sky. Whenever he smiled at her, all gleaming white teeth and soft lips, she always felt her heart skip in a way that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

She had not wanted to fall for the handsome new student from the snowy mountains of the Vale. Life had taught her just because someone was beautiful on the outside didn’t mean they were beautiful on the inside. Joffrey with his beautiful face had been a monster, and the monster at the golden boy’s side had ended up being the only man she had ever really loved. But Sansa soon learned that Harry Hardyng was not easily ignored.

He was devastatingly handsome, sure, but there was far more to him than that. He was rather brilliant as well, solving complex math problems with a confidence that Sansa envied. What she admired even more was how he would sometimes slip lines from Shakespeare into the middle of everyday conversations. Most people would just stare at him like he was crazy and chock it up to people from the Vale being a bit off, but the lines always made Sansa smile and wonder how her favorite Shakespearean sonnets would sound coming from his lips.

As if being handsome and smart weren’t enough, he was also painfully charming. Even when he tumbled down the bleachers at the biggest football game of the year, he simply shrugged it off and bowed for the crowd. Sansa would have been humiliated and run off crying, but Harry just flashed them his crooked smile and was met with a round of applause.

People liked Harry, but there were still a number of nasty rumors floating around about him; he _was_ a new student, and the King’s Landing gossips couldn’t be without their dramatic whispers for long. Some said he had gotten a girl pregnant at his old school. Some said he was kicked out for seducing one of the teachers. She knew better than to believe everything she heard, but the whispers still made her wary of the handsome Harry.

But no matter how many times she turned him away, he just kept asking and smiling and telling her she was the most wonderful girl he had ever met. No one understood why Sansa wouldn’t just give him a chance (even Arya, who almost never hesitated to criticize Sansa’s romantic choices), but she was determined. It was not until he threw rocks at her window and delivered Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18— _Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_ —for the entire neighborhood to hear that Sansa was finally won. And when he kissed her that day, under a bright summer sky, she felt the wall she had built around her heart collapse.

Despite how good Harry made her feel, she found herself constantly waiting for their love to crack. She kept waiting for him to leave her like Sandor and Willas. She kept waiting for him to ask her to keep their kisses a secret like Samwell and Theon. She kept waiting for the kisses to lose their spark or become painful like with Joffrey. But none of those things ever happened. Instead, Harry turned down a full scholarship to Braavos University to attend Oldtown with her. Then, on her 23rd birthday, he asked her to marry him in front an entire backyard filled with her family and friends. And every time he kissed her, she swore she could still hear the romantic swell of music like in the movies and the pretty words of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 ringing in her ears.

But, when she said _yes_ and pressed her lips against his, as he slipped the ring down her finger, there was a small, ugly voice nagging at her from the back of her mind that this wasn’t right, and she was reminded of the kiss that had never been and now might never be.

 

 

_\+ Jaime Lannister_

There was a large oak tree at the edge of her parents’ backyard. As children, she, Robb, Jon, and Arya had carved a face into the trunk. Sometimes they would talk in deep voices and pretend it was the tree talking to them. Other times, Sansa would go to the tree alone and talk to the carved face about her problems. It was a childish habit, and she would have been dreadfully embarrassed had anyone ever caught her at it, but it always soothed her.

Every time Sansa sat beneath the shade of the branches, she remembered those days laughing with her siblings or crying to the tree by herself and felt peace even on her worst days. She wasn’t sure what had driven her back to the tree after all these years. She was a woman grown and about to be married, with a great job and a devoted fiancé. Whatever it was, she felt like she needed those childhood memories again. But soon another memory of her under the tree with someone very much not related to her crept to the forefront of her mind. Suddenly, she could hear his voice purring against her ear and feel the warmth of his hand against the bare skin of her neck.

 

_“You’re a beautiful girl, Miss Stark… I have always been more partial to blondes, I admit. But in the sun, your hair shines like the most stunning red gold.”_

_Eighteen-year-old Sansa gasped at the unexpected interruption. The oak tree was where she sought solace from the worries of her day. It was where she retreated after Joffrey had bitten her lip.  It was where she cried after Sandor Clegane left. It was where she took Willas when she simply couldn’t resist kissing him any longer. The realization that the man speaking to her now, Jaime Lannister, had seen any or even all of those intimate moments made her stomach clench._

_Part of her wanted to run away from him. Jaime Lannister was infamous in King’s Landing. The rumors had it that he had been taken hostage once during a robbery at Red Keep Bank. The robber had threatened to burn the place down, but Lannister somehow managed to kill the man with his bare hands. There was also a great deal of talk about his sexual proclivities. Despite being one of the most beautiful men Sansa had ever seen, he had never married, or even had a girlfriend or boyfriend as far as anyone knew. Some speculated he had only ever loved one woman—his sister and Robert Baratheon’s wife, Cersei. Sansa wasn’t sure if she believed that one. How could someone see his or her brother or sister in that way? She certainly couldn’t imagine ever wanting Robb in that manner. But even if she didn’t believe everything they said about him, she feared him all the same._

_“You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you? So soft, so kind, so very much unlike my dear sister… You were completely wasted on my little shit of a—” he paused, “nephew. No, that boy is far too in love with himself to ever be a good lover. Tell me, did he hurt you, sweet girl?”_

_Sansa shot up from her seat at the base of the tree and looked at the man speaking to her. He flashed her a bright white, feline smile, and his eyes flashed like emeralds in the sun. He was leaning casually on the fence that separated his property from the Starks’. “N—no,” she stammered out, staring awkwardly down at her bare feet. “He—he was very chivalrous, sir, but I fear it was not meant to be.”_

_Jaime laughed at that, so loud Sansa worried her father would hear them and come storming out. The last thing she wanted right now was another lecture about staying away from Lannisters. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. Joffrey has been accused of many things, but chivalry was never one of them. He must have been quite the monster to run you right into Clegane’s arms though. Unless you have a thing for horrific scars and unintelligible grunts.”_

_Sansa gritted her teeth and considered telling him that Sandor was a thousand times the man his awful nephew would ever be, but he spoke again before she had the chance. “I have horrific scars too, you know.” He held up the stump that now made up the end of his right arm. Before the accident that took his hand, he had been a professional quarterback and one of the most admired players in the United States. And now, well; now he lived alone and drank his disappointments away night after night, or so the gossips would have her believe. “I’m an excellent conversationalist, however. Though I suppose I could grunt and glare like the Hound, if that’s what gets you off.”_

_Sansa blushed at the idea of Jaime Lannister, a man nearly twice her age, getting her off. “You’re rather crude, aren’t you?” Sansa grumbled, finally finding her voice. The scared, shy girl she had once been might have just stammered out an apology and run away, but she was not that girl anymore and she would not be scared away by a Lannister. Instead, she strode over to him, her head held high and her copper hair flowing behind her in the wind. “What makes you think you could get me off any better than Sandor could? Your nephew was beautiful and golden just like you, and he never caused me anything but pain.”_

_Jaime’s smile faltered for a moment but quickly snapped back into place. He leant over the fence and brushed the fingers of his left hand softly through her hair before resting it against the exposed skin of her neck. His skin felt impossibly warm against hers and made Sansa’s breath catch. “Given the chance, I wouldn’t stop until I made you feel everything you had ever wanted to feel, Sansa Stark,” he whispered against her ear, sending a chill down her spine. “I would take you anywhere you wanted to go, let you see whatever you wanted to see, give you everything I have to give… I would worship every last inch of you… The curve of your spine, the dimple in your chin, the streaks of gold in your hair, the freckles on your nose,” his mouth moved away from her ear and ghosted over lips, his warm breath making them tingle, “the pink of your lips, the soft swell of your breasts…”_

_Sansa tore away from him at the mention of her breasts. The only noise she could hear was the pounding of her heart. The only thing she could feel was the heat building in her stomach and the wetness between her legs. His lips had been so close and she had almost let them rest upon her own. “I—I have to go,” she mumbled, before dashing away as fast as her legs would take her._

That seemed like so long ago. She was twenty-five now, the rising star at a renowned publishing house and about to be happily married. It was wrong for her to be remembering that encounter with Jaime Lannister. It was especially wrong for her to feel the same wetness between her legs.

“What brings you back to the tree, Miss Stark?”

She didn’t even flinch. Maybe part of her had been hoping the man with the golden hair and emerald eyes who had promised to make her feel _everything_ would show up if she waited long enough.

“Oh, just thinking, Mr. Lannister.”

“Please, call me Jaime.”

“Then call me Sansa.”

“ _Sansa_.” He said her name slowly, in a low purr that made goose bumps prickle across her skin. She could feel his emerald eyes searing into her and squirmed uneasily under the weight of his stare. “Trouble in paradise, Sansa?”

_No_ , she almost said. It wouldn’t have entirely been a lie. Harry still appeared to love her fiercely. They were now looking at houses in the same neighborhood as her parents and planning a honeymoon to Ireland.

“Ah, your face says it all. They don’t see it though, do they? You always were a rather accomplished liar, even if you play at being innocent as a newborn lamb. You certainly didn’t get that from your father.”

“What do you want, Jaime?"

“You know what I want,” he laughed. “I told you all of those years ago, right from this very spot, if I remember correctly. Already trapped yourself in domesticity at the age of twenty-five. If that’s what you want then good for you, but is it _really_ what you want, Sansa? Or would you rather run away with me?”

She sighed and wondered what would have happened if she had kissed Jaime Lannister that day by the old oak tree. Would she still have fallen in love with Harry? Or would her father have caught her with the older man and sent her off to some girls-only boarding school back North to keep her out of trouble? Would she have run away to Europe with the beautiful but broken former football star twice her age? It seemed strange that a single missed kiss could have potentially had such an impact on her life.

“I love my fiancé,” she said softly, and it was not truly a lie. “Good day, Mr. Lannister. I don’t expect I’ll be seeing you again.”

The grin on his face didn’t budge. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I suspect I might be seeing you again quite soon.”

She left the yard with her stomach knots and heart racing, wondering if he was right.


End file.
